Author: desolate butterfly
Genre: horror, angst
Pairing: gen, ItaSasu
Rating: PG 13
Summary: Sasuke wants all of Itachi's attention, not just half.
Sasuke was seven and the top student in his class. His marks were the highest out of all the students, and his stealth and speed were rated the best of his age group. His aim in the shuriken throwing test was the third-highest score recorded in the whole history of the Academy since Konoha was founded.
Itachi was still the first.
Sasuke frowned in concentration, sliding the small metal star between his fingers before sending it hurtling across the field to slam into the centre target. Immediately he readied another and flung it quickly to strike into the painted board just above where the first shuriken was lodged. A third was thrown just below the other two. Sasuke smiled and turned.
"Look at me nii-san," he said breathlessly, pointing towards the target. "I did it!"
But Itachi was turned away from him, carefully sharpening a kunai. Sasuke watched his brother's back shift as he breathed and the smile left his face.
"Are you going now?"
Itachi stood and slid the kunai into the brace at on his arm, fingers brushing the distinctive ANBU tattoo. He nodded without looking at Sasuke, fitting the stiff white mask over his face.
"You can show me again when I get back," Itachi said, running quick fingers through Sasuke's hair.
Sasuke watched him leave with a heavy ache in his stomach.
He knew it was a lie.
Sasuke was thirteen and staring down a hallway at Itachi's cloaked back. His throat was tight and his hand crackled with the chidori, the high-pitched chirping sending hot knives of pain through his ears. Through the focused burn of the sharingan he could see the familiar creases on Itachi's cheeks, and the glint of a ring on his hand.
Sasuke screamed in rage as the seal on his neck pulsed dangerously. His legs pumped furiously as he ran, closer and closer.
'Look at me, you bastard.'
But Itachi's eyes were fixed on Naruto, who still stood, confused and frozen in the doorway.
"Itachi," Sasuke yelled as he dove forward in a desperate punch.
His hand was grabbed, the wrist casually snapped as the chidori sputtered and died. Sasuke doubled over as he was kicked away like a dog. When Itachi pinned him against the wall it was like an afterthought, and the fingers at his throat didn't even bother to squeeze threateningly.
In some ways, Sasuke relished the moment he was put under tsukiyomi. He didn't even try to look away from Itachi's focused red gaze.
Sasuke was eighteen and held Itachi at his feet, hand fisted in the blood-spattered cloak, kusenagi pressed tightly to his brother's neck. They were so close, Sasuke could feel heated breath on his cheek, hear the erratic beat of Itachi's heart.
"Look at me," Sasuke demanded, the mangenkyou sharingan washing his brother's face in a red haze.
But when Itachi's eyes turned to him they were blank and dull and covered in grey film. Sasuke's astonished gasp almost drowned out the wet chuckle that burst from his brother's lips with a thin stream of blood.
"Foolish little brother," Itachi breathed, fingers reaching up to caress the curse marks darkening Sasuke's pale skin. "I cannot."
Sasuke shrieked as he thrust the sword into Itachi's flesh, feeling the bite of steel as much as if it had been his own throat he had cut.
When the hunter-nins finally found him, six hours later, he had already dug out his own eyes with a knife and was trying to fit them into the empty sockets of his brother's severed head.